Lethal Trajectories (53 page)

Back on the east side of Riyadh, King Mustafa and Prince Bawarzi hunkered down in a makeshift firing pit, watching the approach of what looked like an Arab armored column.
This can’t be,
Mustafa thought as the column got closer and closer. He picked up his binoculars again and couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Bawarzi, quick, take a look at the lead tank and tell me what you see.”

Prince Bawarzi stared, then shook his head in wonderment. “Your Highness, unless my eyes are deceiving me, it looks like Prince Khalid ibn Saud. Can this be?”

“I don’t know, Bawarzi. Let me look again.” His high-powered binoculars confirmed the truth. “It is him. Issue orders for everyone to hold their fire. We will allow them their moment of triumph, and when his tank gets a few meters closer, I will personally destroy him before he can deliver our country to the infidels.” Bawarzi gave the order and then brought Mustafa a shoulder-launched antitank weapon.

“Closer, closer, closer,” Mustafa chanted as he relished the thought of wiping out this apostate.

Prince Khalid, a former military officer well-versed in armored warfare, spotted the sun reflecting off a metal object about 150 meters southwest of his tank. There wasn’t enough time to turn and aim the 155 millimeter tank gun for a shot at what was probably an antitank weapon, so he immediately opened fire on the suspected target with his twin mounted .50-caliber machine guns.
Whatever it was,
Khalid thought,
it’s gone now.

Prince Khalid ordered a halt to assess the damage. As the platoon approached the target, seven grenadiers from the 15th Armored Brigade moved slowly out to meet them, their hands raised in surrender. They started to shout, “You killed the king! You killed King Mustafa!”

Astonished, Khalid ordered his tank columns to continue on while he jumped off the tank to investigate the prisoners’ claims. One of the prisoners, flanked by two soldiers, led him to the remains of the firing pit where he found the corpse of Prince Bawarzi. His chest oozed a deep crimson red; it was obvious he had died immediately.

A few feet away, near several spent shell casings, he spotted another body, face-down on the ground. He flipped the bloody mass of humanity over and was flabbergasted by what he saw. Mustafa.
Can this really be? How could I ever have been so blessed as to kill this vile man?

He was more astonished to see that Mustafa was still alive, gasping for breath and bleeding heavily from a gaping wound to his stomach. As Khalid leaned down to get a clearer look at the man he had long dreamed of killing, Mustafa suddenly opened his eyes. Anguish and horror filled his eyes; his lips moved silently as blood ran out of both sides of his mouth. He took two or three more labored breaths and then died with an astonished look on his face.

Riyadh fell quickly as the Saudi loyalists laid down their arms and surrendered en masse. As the wary citizens of Riyadh slowly came out of their shelters, they were surprised to see Prince Khalid ibn Saud at the head of a column of Saudi tanks, flanked by Arab soldiers. Cheering, the throng greeted them as liberators.

C
layton McCarty delighted in the euphoria filling the Situation Room this morning. So often the scene of unimaginable anguish, today the room hosted a debriefing on the event ending much of that anguish: the fall of the Mustafa regime. Clayton mused, as he watched the happy faces,
My entire presidency has been wrapped up in this crisis; I wonder what it will be like now.

“Good morning, everyone,” Clayton said almost gleefully, “It’s great to see everyone in such a good mood after all we’ve been through, and I’ll never be able to thank you enough for all you have done to achieve this victory. In many respects, however, the challenges we now face in reassembling a globally shattered economy will be every bit as difficult, though in a less threatening way. I’d like to start today with a casualty report. Admiral, could you give us a rundown?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. President,” Admiral Coxen replied snappily before giving his report. He reported that American casualties were remarkably light, Saudi military casualties were heavy, civilian casualties were held to a minimum, and nonmilitary infrastructure damage was almost nonexistent. Happily, there was little evidence of looting or civil unrest amongst the civilian population.

“Thank you for that information, Admiral,” Clayton said gratefully. “It’s a real testament to our armed forces that a conflict of this magnitude could be contained in such a manner, though war of any kind is terrible.”

“Moving on,” he continued, “I talked to Chairman Lin Cheng earlier today, and we agreed to issue a joint statement at six o’clock tonight, our time, announcing the cessation of hostilities. Jack, would you get on the horn with Wang Peng and work out a rough draft? It doesn’t have to be anything long, and I certainly don’t want it to say something that will haunt us later.”

Thurmond Thompson then gave a report on the disposition of military forces in Saudi Arabia. While a positive report, it prompted Clayton to remind everyone of the need to make sure the American footprint was kept to a minimum and Saudi culture respected.

“This has to be a Saudi deal if it’s going to work,” he said, “and we’ll need to give Prince Khalid all the support we can to stabilize the country and protect major institutions—including the oil infrastructure. Khalid’s postwar strategy is well thought out and should serve as our postwar operating plan to the extent possible. I want our presence to be kept low-key.”

Looking at Peter Canton, Clayton said, “Peter has some information on the oil situation that suggests we are not out of the woods by a long shot. Pete, the floor is yours.”

“Thank you, Mr. President,” Peter said nervously. “As you all know, prior to the Saudi oil embargo, the United States was using about seventeen million barrels of oil per day, thirteen million barrels of it imported. With the embargo, our imports were reduced to roughly nine million barrels daily. We offset part of that shortfall through our strategic petroleum reserve. Unfortunately, our SPR is now used up, and there’s nothing more from which to draw.”

“The war’s over,” said Secretary Thompson, “and we’ll once again receive Saudi oil shipments, right?”

“You’re partially right, Thurmond,” Peter responded, “but here’s the rub: when Mustafa abruptly shut down production, he did irreparable damage to the wells. Our geologists have not had a chance yet to audit the health of the wells, but their best guess for now is that the Saudis will never again produce more than nine million barrels daily. That’s four million barrels less daily oil for the global oil market—roughly 5 percent of global production. America’s portion of that shortfall might be over a million barrels less of oil daily with no SPR to make good the deficit.”

Clayton interjected, “The American people will expect things to get back to normal now that the war’s ended, but
normal
has changed. I can see no way at this time to relax our oil rationing system with the oil shortfalls we’ll have for years to come. In fact, for national security reasons, we may have to consider replenishing our SPR with up to one million barrels per day. That’s a lot of oil to take out of our economy on a semipermanent basis.”

“How do you propose to break this news to the American people, Mr. President?” asked Vice President Cartright.

Pausing a moment, Clayton answered, “I’m thinking now of addressing them in the next couple of days to summarize what has happened and what they can expect. It’s important that we quickly take off the table any expectation that oil rationing will be relaxed. Paradoxically, our oil supply situation during the embargo was probably better than we can expect it to be in the future because we had a strategic petroleum reserve to call on then that we don’t have now. It was also easier to get their support for rationing in wartime than it will be now that we are at peace. I’ll be working with China on a joint proposal at the UN calling for a continuation of the global oil rationing system we used during the embargo.”

Clayton listened to the heated discussion that followed and thought,
This is going to be a hard sell to the American people.
He next turned to Anthony Mullen for his CIA report. “Tony, what’s the latest from the CIA?”

“Mr. President,” Mullen responded, “There’s a new twist developing in the Middle East. Our intelligence has confirmed that the Iranians have been reinforcing the island of Abu Musa, near the entrance of the Strait of Hormuz, with surface-to-air and surface-to-ship missiles. Abu Musa, if you’ll recall, has been bitterly contested by Iran and the United Arab Emirates for years, and the UAE sees this as a threat to their security as well as to the oil lifeline through the strait. Before the Saudi embargo, over 20 percent of the world’s oil was flowing through the strait every day.”

“Thanks, Tony. It seems like we no sooner finish this war and we’re back at it again with our friends the Iranians. I’d like you to work out a scenario analysis for our NSC meeting tomorrow. In the meantime, I think we ought to have a squadron of F-22 Raptors make a few low passes over Abu Musa to remind the Iranians we know what they’re doing. This might also be a good issue on which to reestablish our relationship with the UAE, given their paranoid fear of Iran. I’m sure they’re also grateful we were able to prevent any dirty bomb-tipped cruise missiles from hitting their oil fields.”

As the clamor of varying opinions began again, Clayton thought,
It doesn’t take long for the euphoria of victory to be overshadowed by the complexities of peace.

Walking back to the Oval Office with his brother after the meeting, Jack sighed and said, “It’s never over, is it, Clayton?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean just what I said, it’s never over. We no sooner finish one war than the seeds for the next one are sown. The Saudi War has been over for only hours, and we’re already back at it again with the Iranians. Like I said, Clayton, it’s never over.”

T
he luscious signs of spring were everywhere as Lin Cheng and Clayton McCarty walked along one of the many rustic pathways at Camp David. It had been a long week for the two most powerful leaders in the world; their upcoming joint energy and climate-change presentation to the United Nations was the keynote topic of this informal Sino-American summit.

Camp David was an oasis in a turbulent world, and they welcomed the opportunity to recharge their batteries while working out last-minute details. “You’re getting to be quite the pro at addressing the American Congress, Cheng. Your speech to them on Wednesday was as powerful as the one you gave shortly after President Burkmeister’s funeral. What’s your secret? I need a little help myself.”

Laughing, Lin Cheng replied, “You’re no slouch yourself, Clayton. The speeches you gave my Politburo last November and your follow-up address to the nation were the talk of China long after you left.”

“How tough was it for you to stay a couple of steps ahead of your Politburo during the long embargo with the Saudis?”

“Let’s just say I had to exert maximum effort to keep them on board. I had a faction that wanted to cut a deal with Iran and let the United States and others fend for themselves. Some also felt we should use Israel as a lever to work a deal with Mustafa’s regime.”

“How’d you manage to keep them on board, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“No, I don’t mind, Clayton. I think they gradually realized that any quick-fix deals would be just that and nothing more. The prospect of dealing with a large, disgruntled, unemployed workforce was enough to keep the Politburo focused on the bigger picture even though they didn’t like the bumps along the way. How about you? How did you keep Congress and the American people on board?”

Before answering, Clayton diverted their walk down one of his favorite paths. “I won’t kid you, Cheng, it was tough. In the first few weeks of the embargo—particularly in the early stages of our relationship with your country—I did not enjoy a high approval rating. Many Americans hated the idea of gas rationing, questioned our relationship with your country, rebelled at any perceived restrictions on their freedoms, and even called for us to bomb the daylights out of the Saudis and just go in and take the oil.”

Lin Cheng thought for a moment and asked, “What turned it around?”

“America’s a strange country. Our people have been spoiled by decades of prosperity and have always rebelled against the idea of it being taken away from them. A radio personality here by the name of Wellington Crane was particularly successful in stirring the pot, but that began to change as the crisis worsened and he had no real answers to offer. As Americans started to more fully appreciate the breadth and depth of the crisis, they spent less time pointing fingers and more time addressing the challenge at a personal level. America has always been at its best during a crisis, but we’re often painfully slow to identify and address the crisis at an earlier stage. Does that make sense to you?”